Secret Diaries Of An Affair
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: It is not about love but addiction, how they both woke up one day only to realize that they could not live without each other anymore. Some sort of affair, perhaps. WK fic.
1. December 1st

"_**And when you're awake I'm undone under your spell – in hell"**_

_** Katie Melua, To Kill You With A Kiss**_

**December, 1st **

Karen is like the reason why I start this diary: a complete mystery. She might be flashing a bright smile at you - or shoot one of her icy looks - that she still seems to carry on something unsaid. Not some sort of secret that she would keep quiet by pride but because she doesn't dare to say it out loud; as if it were too heavy, too rough. This is when you understand about these walls, all these appearances she sticks to by fear that if you ever happen to cast a glance at what they hide, she might fall down and crash.

It is a whole, the fusion of a series of elements that all of a sudden makes you feel dizzy and as you turn around to look for some references, you realize that it is too late. You have succumbed to the blurriness that wraps up her persona and you can't help falling for her.

It isn't about love but addiction, how you wake up one morning with the odd sensation that she is now a part of you running through your veins and feeding your brain, your arteries; your heart. You need her bright smiles, her icy looks and the way her hand suddenly brushes yours with a calculated innocence. She doesn't leave room to coincidence, unplanned events. She can't afford to.

I have learned about this through the years, how to analyze everything from the choice of a word to the second gaze she gives once you have turned your back at her and thinking she is safe, she lets go of all the rest. For a tiny second.

Because even when she closes the door of the hotel room – locks her eyes with mine – and embraces a mischievous smile while making her way to me with a suggestive sensuality, I know that she still keeps for herself the exact spring of her identity. No matters she undresses in front of me, licks her lips before capturing mine in a deep kiss then shivers against my own body.

Even when she brushes my ear to whisper "I am all yours", I know that she is lying. Though I don't pay attention to it because anyway, I can't resist.

Will.

…

His hand was hot against her thigh, arousing enough to make her feel like getting on her back – her legs spread – and let him take her until they both reached paroxysm. Though beforehand they had to settle a date for their next... Next what? She had thought about it a lot of times but had never managed to find the word that would seem the most appropriate. "Appointment" was too impersonal when "encounter" simply sounded gloomy and "rendez-vous" too far from reality. Perhaps there was nothing to define at the end, not a word that the English vocabulary could bring up and assimilate to these weekly... But weekly what, exactly? And there she was again in search of the undetected, making abstraction to the way his fingers had made it to her inner thigh within a few seconds.

"How about Wednesday? I have a charity event – yes I know, charity – the next day and on Tuesday it seems like we have some guests coming over for a dinner. Another boring evening, may I assume... But you know how Stanley is with these."

"I don't really mind..."

His fingers had now made it under the thin fabric of her stockings, his lips replacing them on her inner thigh. He loved kissing her there, for whatever reason she didn't understand but the mere contact of his tongue on her flesh resulted enough to make her swallow hard and quietly ask for more.

"Then Wednesday it is. At nine? Though we could meet at eight and have dinner before. There is surely nothing worse than having sex on an empty stomach."

Marking of a cross the next Wednesday, she closed her Burberry agenda – put down her Montblanc fountain pen – and finally abdicated to his arms as he lie her down on the mattress.

"Is this the kind of advices your mother used to give you as a kid?"

A laugh escaped from her lips, a small one as she raised her eyebrows with what looked like the shades of irony.

"If only you knew, honey."

She didn't remember having unbuttoned then got rid of his shirt – even less unzipped his pants – though there he was between her legs, his jeans sliding down his waist while the bare skin of his chest brushed her knees. Perhaps she had had too much of a drink if it were ever possible and she had forgotten about it unless the clothes part had ceased to be exciting for quite a while and belonged now to the kind of routine she didn't pay attention to anymore.

But she loved his body and could have spent hours caressing it, kissing every single inch of skin while her tongue would trace circles the most sensitive places. She let her stiletto fall down and slowly let her foot travel up his leg until she reached his buttocks then mischievously enough, the front of his pants. Feeling his arousing against her foot, she couldn't help smiling.

"Why, wouldn't you wait for me, honey?"

"Rhetorical, isn't it?"

"Then you know what is left to do now."

"Indeed..."

His lips made contact with her neck and she closed her eyes, passing a hand through his hair. At times when she felt bad – mostly when it rained – she thought about the word "affair"; how it matched these hotel reservations and the lustful anonymity of their acts. But she couldn't stand the sound of it, even less the meaning. Besides, Will was a friend; not a stranger she would have met one night at some bar so it couldn't make of him her lover, could it?

Not that it was right, but still...


	2. December 7th

**December, 7th**

I was an accident.

One day, my mother threw it in the middle of the conversation with such indifference that I remained at the table for long seconds before being able to say anything back. I was about to turn sixteen – we lived in Brooklyn by then and nothing went well anymore; for whatever reason. I spent a lot of years playing the scenario in my head – over and over – wondering if she hadn't said that on purpose so that I packed then left home once and for all. This is what happened, at the end. I ran away a few months later.

From then on I decided that there wouldn't be unplanned events anymore, that everything would come defined by a steady strategy. This is how I began to calculate the slightest move I could make, control it all from the very beginning to the end. I hate the notion of fate and the concept of coincidence. Perhaps because I come from them – even probably if we have to be honest – and I can't stand the idea. I wasn't born undesired, wasn't born to be hidden and pass unnoticed among the crowd.

The minute I saw him I knew that he would end up in bed with me; no matters who he was to Grace or his sexual preferences. As a matter of fact, it never happened to be an obstacle – eventually a challenge that would spice up it all. Good-looking, smart, self-centered enough to get trapped in my game and at some point succumb to my fantasies. Not that I don't respect him as a person but he is beforehand the best way to get me satisfied in a rather successful but immensely boring life.

I don't really wish it were any different. I like the way it is, these weekly reservations – the silence on them. Perhaps it sounds sad to whomever would get to know about it but the truth is that I have never felt so fine since the day we started all this. I don't think I will regret it. It is too late now. Will is a part of my life as I am in his and nothing could make me smile more than people saying that I am a bitch. I am, let's face it. But at least I am his.

There is nothing wrong about it, absolutely nothing. We both are adults – free before our choices, the decisions we make – and this is all what matters in the end. Then you will ask me why I spend so much time writing about him in this diary, why I keep on lying to so many people about it. Why. Why. Why...

I don't know. I just feel the urge to do it like once the door is closed behind us, I want nothing but kiss him.

Karen.

…

"Do you have one?"

Her breath was short as she looked up at him, her hair brushing his lower stomach; part of his inner thighs. She licked her lips – a hand still on his shaft – and waited for a sign to make the next move on him. His skin was hot against hers, blood boiling underneath with arousing desires. It wouldn't take her long before straddling him and make the final connection she had spent the whole day longing for.

"Do you want me to put it on?"

An amused smile played on her lips as she grabbed the condom he was holding. She shook her head at him, frankly laughed this time.

"Like I need help for that..."

He didn't know that she was on the pill, hadn't asked either actually. It seemed that he had just assumed it had to be that way around and from the very beginning they had used condoms.

It never was violent – never harmful – but sometimes it turned out to be rough, mechanical and deprived of feelings like the few words they could exchange during it. Perhaps in all sincerity, she had wished at some point that the foreplay led them to something sweeter but then again they weren't involved into a relationship.

It didn't have to be romantic.

Her tongue traced a path to his mouth and she captured his lips in a deep kiss; molded her body against him while his hands were traveling on her hips. It is only when she felt his fingertips on her nape that she broke apart and locked her eyes with his.

"Now would you please have the courtesy to fuck me, honey?"

He had stopped blushing to her comments for quite a while now which probably highlighted the fact it all was becoming some sort of routine; that the time was passing by and they didn't cease to see each other once a week. But it got him excited, she knew it and could even feel it now against her knee.

Men liked abrupt speeches like this when in such situations. It had taken her years to feel comfortable with a mischievous crudeness in bed but as soon as she had found herself naked against Will, she had lost her inhibitions; so quickly.

"I thought that you would never ask."

In a long kiss, she took him in her hand then guided him slowly – straddling and spreading her legs on top of him. His shivers melted in hers as their bodies fully connected and as his hands traveled down her lower back – pushed her closer to him – she began to move her hips.

"I like this..."

The words came to die in his neck as she passed her tongue over it and finally arched her back – sitting up on him – to reach a better angle, multiply the feelings their thrusts could bring. She closed her eyes and leaned her head backwards while his hands began to caress her breasts. At this point anything could happen that she didn't care. It was the result of a singular fusion, bewitching somehow.

She was his, shivering and moaning; at his mercy.


	3. December 14th

**December, 14th**

Sometimes I wonder if I am part of her daydreams, not necessarily sexual ones – especially if we take in consideration how many fantasies we make come true together – but basic information she has never asked me until now: how many women I have had, if she teaches me anything. I don't think that she has to remain quiet, no. I guess she doesn't dare to ask, actually. Because it would get us closer and that somehow is not possible. Perhaps one day she will lock her eyes with mine, take a deep breath and let the words come out. I wish she did. Let's face it.

There aren't established rules but implicitly enough I guess that we have settled down a few of them as if relations couldn't work without fundamental principles. I am allowed to date other people – after all she is married – but every time I meet someone and go out with him, there is something missing. I don't know what it is but obviously it is the reason why I don't manage to get involved into any kind of real, serious relationship. I would lie if I didn't say that I don't mind that much at the end.

I see her once a week and this is all I need.

She drinks, smokes, allows herself to say everything that passes through her head no matters the kind of consequences this can settle and if it should get on my nerves, I simply find it sexy; arousing. I love when her lips taste of Vodka, how the alcohol slowly melts on my tongue as we kiss. It contrasts with the softness of her skin, the delicacy of her inner thighs that has barely anything to do with the abrupt shades of a Martini. This is when I feel like I am the closest to whom she really is. When arching her back, she gets tensed around me; tight.

Her voice is hoarse by then, and her breath short against my neck; against my lips. If she happens to go and whisper my name, it drives me crazy though yet this is when the change comes up and she isn't the Karen I know anymore. Balancing somewhere in between I cast a glance to something more. If at some point I found it entertaining, now there isn't a minute I don't think about it.

Obsessed to get to know whom she really is.

I have no idea where to start, how long it can take me but if there is one thing I am sure about it is that at some point, I will get it. And Karen Walker won't have any secret for me.

I just hope that it won't ruin anything.

Will.

…

Preceded by his lips, his hand caressed her buttocks slowly before coming to die in the depths of her inner thighs. Instinctively she rolled on her back and slightly spread her legs to give him a better access but against all expectations the kisses stopped and he remained there, brushing with his fingertips the ink engraved on her skin.

"Did it hurt?"

From all the people she had been intimate with, Will was probably the one who was the most fascinated by her tattoo. For whatever reason he always passed his tongue over it, following the lines offered by a drawing she hadn't spent a lot of time observing actually. Looking down at her lower stomach - just at the limits of her inner thigh – she shrugged, unconvinced.

"I wish I could remember."

His confused gaze made her smile but quietly enough, she indicated him to go on and lick the skin just as he had been doing. They might have just had sex, she was still aroused; especially while feeling him between her legs.

"I got drunk one night and the next thing I know is that I woke up a few hours later in bed with it on my stomach and my mother yelling at me that I would be late for school if I didn't get up."

"Your mother?"

His tongue went down her inner thigh. She closed her eyes, laying back against a pillow while passing a hand through his hair.

"I was fourteen years old. So little time, too many things to do in Manhattan in one night obviously... I remember that we had got false ID's and that we had taken the train from Brooklyn."

"You lived in Brooklyn?"

His tongue finally made it to a lot more sensitive spot and she couldn't help but gasp under the sudden touch, arched her back a little. She liked the way he hadn't stopped touching her yet conversed all along with a troubling casualness; as if nothing special were happening, at least nothing that intimate.

"Why, nobody is perfect, honey."

She welcomed his silence with a barely contained relief, passing a leg over his shoulder. Not that he did not have to ask any question but for not being used to, she preferred the unsaid truth.

"Don't stop, Will..."

His hand had made it to her breasts now as his tongue had sped up its pace drawing circles around and sending shivers down her spine whenever it made contact with the most sensitive part of her body.

She loved having someone between her legs, driving her crazy with mischievous caresses and if she seemed to be the one dominating, she couldn't actually be more at the mercy of the person focused on her body.

Moaning his name owned a singular effect on her, sending butterflies in her stomach as soon as she did. Perhaps it came from the idea that what they were doing had crossed the limits of the acceptable and thus it got her even more excited.

Because if there was something that she hadn't tried to change about herself through the years it had to be the appeal she always found in prohibited things.


	4. December 21st

**December, 21st **

Perhaps I write to forget, to cheat on a life that hasn't always been perfect. A bit rough at times – cold and lonely – while the balance I try to find seems to end up vanishing in a sort of upside down whirl. I take some distance thanks to the words, observe everything passively and all of a sudden nothing has importance anymore. From my peculiar childhood to all these men who never asked for my name, not even the next morning while still in bed. All these details float above me before going away, leaving me alone; in peace.

Unless it is about cowardice and how I run away from a truth I prefer to see in disguise. I keep on lying to myself because it is easier like this. Who knows? Who cares? As long as I am alive and have my feet clutched onto the ground, I guess we can say that I am safe and not that different from the others.

It is just that I am secretive, extremely quiet about a thousand things. I don't do it on purpose, it is part of my personality. Though the truth is that sometimes, I hate being like this.

I am going to spend Christmas Eve with him. For the very first time, we are going to be alone. Perhaps I should have declined and pretended to have planned an evening with Stanley but it didn't even cross my mind. I wonder if he noticed my smile, the red on my cheeks or my sparkling eyes when he asked if I wanted to spend the holidays with him. But to the excitement of the beginning has now substituted the disillusion of reality. What is he waiting from me? Sex, like every week? Or something more; different.

If I have to be honest, I would like us to speak – have dinner – then eventually make it to his bedroom in the perfect anonymity of the night. Without any date to settle down previous to us getting undressed. It won't be the hotel or the impersonal touch it usually brings along. I know his place by heart and the idea that we might do what we are used to in a suite tends to be intimidating.

Of course I haven't told him about it nor do I plan to. I will go there – to his place – and enjoy my time with him. No matters what occurs... There shouldn't be any upside down whirl afterward, any sentiment of regret upon a few choices I would have taken. Because as much as it might seem wrong to most of people, I am glad to live what I have with Will. He respects me a lot more than other men did. Besides, I know that he will remember my name the next morning.

That must be why I am looking forward to spending Christmas with him.

Karen.

…

Trying to catch up her breath, she leaned up on her elbows and turned her head around to look at him; straight in the eyes, defiantly – a mischievous grin on her lips. Her cheeks were hot, probably red now and her hair a mess – strands caressing her bare shoulders, balancing across her face – but there they had reached the point where she didn't care anymore about her appearance. Her lustful desire had taken control of her brain and she wanted nothing but feeling him inside of her; his whole body pressed on her back.

She moved her hips up – spreading slightly her legs to invite him to settle between them – and sighed heavily before swallowing hard.

"Come on... Fuck me."

His lips were moist against hers as he bent over to kiss her and she couldn't help biting them as she felt him finally there, brushing her inner thighs. The mattress was hot under her stomach, soft as his thrusts pushed her closer to the sheet in a regular pace. Gently enough, he pulled on her hair. She leaned her head backwards, arched her back and gasped as his hands traveled up her breasts. She was holding him tight now, her nails digging odd drawings on his flesh – on his neck, nape, hips.

"God..."

Next thing she knew she was laying on her back next to him, staring at the ceiling while trying to calm down her quick heartbeats. He never completely broke contact with her by then; a hand on her stomach or in the depths of her thigh they both remained quiet for a while, and still.

"Do you have a cigarette?"

She looked at him and smiled, rather amused by his sudden cliched behavior but nonetheless nodded; got up not caring about her complete nudity.

"Sure, honey. As long as you don't fall asleep just after it..."

An amused mock on her face, she grabbed her bag and before realizing that she hadn't zipped it up, a few items fell down on the floor, in his own open bag; starting with her diary. She immediately took it back and abandoned it in the depths of her Gucci, left the rest on the carpeted floor. Pack of cigarettes in hand, she headed back to the bed – hoping that he hadn't noticed her slight panic before what anyone would have taken for a mere agenda.

"At what time do we have to join Grace and Jack in the lobby for dinner?"

"At nine..."

Rolling on her side, she locked her eyes with his – lit the cigarette – and placed it between his lips; her fingers brushing suggestively his mouth.

"Good... That leaves us time for a second round. Though I am starving already."

They wouldn't have been entirely honest if they hadn't said that it had taken them a while before being able to mention their friends while in bed. Then one day he had blurted out their names and from then on they had given up about any politically correct comment.

Brushing his lips one more time, she took a drag then placed the cigarette back in his mouth before her hand began to travel down his chest and she traced a path of kisses on his neck.


	5. December 24th

**December, 24th**

I have never pondered that much about the notion of fate, if the events of a life have been written and determined even before the birth or we actually are in control of every single decision and it depends on us. But right now if I have to be honest with you, I might tend to believe in a force that looks after whatever we try to build because coincidences wouldn't be able to offer such things.

For a few seconds I thought it belonged to me, that I had been given it in the street then abandoned it in the depths of my training bag before finally forgetting about it. After all, it occurs every day and we do not pay attention to insignificant details like this one. I don't know why I decided to have a proper look at it instead of throwing it away when I found it back this morning. I can't explain it and maybe this is when fate is supposed to explain everything. Or at least the way it takes the decisions for us.

Only three stamps are missing on it before she can get a free drink. For some reason, I focused on the dates that the ink had engraved every time she had stopped by the shop. The regularity can't be a mere coincidence this time. She goes there on Tuesday, every single week.

Yet the indications given by the loyalty card were bringing hope to my secretive attempt to know her better but my curiosity got even more stirred up within the next seconds.

Karen Delaney.

It couldn't have been a mistake, couldn't have been some forgetfulness from an employee when writing down her name according to what her ID stipulated. She would have said something, would have noticed it. This is why I think she went for her maiden name even though the reasons that pushed her to do so remain completely blurry to me.

She should be here within an hour now. Grace and Jack left the city in the morning which means there won't be anyone to disturb us. Does that mean I should ask her about The Hungarian Pastry Shop card this evening? Ask why she goes to Morningside Heights every Tuesday... Why she seems to insist on this name she, herself, rarely pronounces...

Unless I should not say a word and check it by myself next week.

She has never mentioned the pastry shop. I know because even though I pretend to not listen or pay attention to what she says, it all remains engraved in my mind. I can't help it. I guess it appeared the first time we kissed. Something happened by then, something that changed the rules and it all turned upside down.

Will.

…

They hadn't jumped on each other, hadn't ripped off their clothes or kissed. Instead she had simply put her coat down on an armchair and accepted a glass of wine almost randomly as if Jack and Grace were anywhere near. And they had talked. They didn't talk that much when at the hotel suite. Not that they didn't want to but because silence won over every time, perhaps weighing a bit on their conscious too.

"Do you mind if I smoke inside? It is bloody cold, tonight."

They had barely finished dinner but the urge of nicotine had made it to her veins, speeding up the pace of her heartbeats. She had tried to stop smoking multiple times in the past, in vain. The socialite parties she attended regularly prevented her from doing so. Cigarettes were an implicit requirement there, just as alcohol was unfortunately.

"Alright..."

Abandoning her stilettos on the floor, she headed to the couch and lay down there; grabbed her pack of cigarettes from her bag along with a present she put down on the coffee table. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the first drag to the most, her foot slowly caressing up her leg.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Tea..."

Her eyes still closed, she focused on the sounds and as soon as she heard him approach – probably a tray in hand – she tended him the present she had bought; bit the inside of her mouth not to smile. She loved Christmas but exhilaration didn't really match with her persona.

"And here is yours."

Within a few seconds she sat back up on the couch by his side and with a barely contained excitement in her eyes she unwrapped the rectangular item she had been given.

She knew these boxes too well not to anticipate what was coming. From the softness of the velvet to a unique shade of blue – embraced by a matching ribbon – it always turned into a childhood dream come true. But for the first time it made her panic slightly; because Will wasn't her husband or a man whom with time passing by, she had a chance to marry. Tiffany's rhymed with engagements, birthdays and of course wedding anniversaries. Not with whatever they were living.

She nonetheless opened the box and caressed with her fingertips the diamond necklace. It was thin, and delicately feminine.

"I don't know what to say... It is..."

"Do you like it?"

"Of course!"

Though in other circumstances. She frowned but let him do as he grabbed the jewel and pushed up her hair to place the diamonds on her neck. His fingers were soft and warm against her nape, sending over and over shivers down her spine whenever they made contact with her flesh.

"Karen..."

"Yes?"

She turned her head around but looked down instead; stared at the hardwood floor. He had put back her hair down her nape and let her skin cold of any touch. Then there was his voice, sounding hesitant all of a sudden.

"Nothing. Never mind... Merry Christmas."

Perhaps he should have told her about the loyalty card he had found in the depths of his training bag. How it had probably slipped out of the agenda she had made fall down at the hotel suite the last time.

Perhaps he should have insisted, taken a deep breath and asked her why she went with Delaney every week in an area that didn't belong with someone who used to go to Barney's.

Perhaps he should have tried all of this instead of resuming his incomprehension to a passionate kiss.


	6. Decemeber 31st

**December, 31st**

I don't take it off when we have sex. I like feeling his lips embrace my flesh and the diamonds, the way the jewels slide on my neck as soon as I move or arch my back against him; under his touch. Wearing nothing but a necklace between satin sheets behind the closed door of a hotel suite... Perhaps it sounds gloomy to some people – terribly appealing and sensual to others – but what am I supposed to know at the end about the truth? About what is right, what is not.

Grace and Jack noticed it. We were having dinner together. I simply said that it came from Stanley then cast a brief glance at Will. He didn't seem to care about the lie, actually even looked relieved somehow. Probably because some things can't be said out loud that easily. As for my husband... Well, I wore it in front of him but he didn't see anything, didn't ask me. Sometimes I think that we have reached another stage in our marriage, the one of invisibility and after so many years of a shared life we simply stop – little by little – to exist in each other's eyes. It isn't sad, no. Just... Inevitable.

Tomorrow will be a new year, supposed to offer perspectives and aspirations. But I don't want anything to change. I don't want novelty. I am hoping for some sort of continuity, maybe with an ounce of some odd sweetness like the one we shared on Christmas Eve. We did end up in bed – in his bed – but I guess the place brought along something that hotel suites are unable to. A sentiment of comfort, of warmth as well as the morning light embracing our pales faces. It had never happened. Until then we had barely spent a few hours together, not a whole night. And it was nice all of a sudden, nice to wake up and have someone by my side.

I am not lonely but alone. There is a difference here. It might be thin – almost nonexistent – but I can assure you that it exists. Because I don't feel like bursting into tears or spending my days lost in dark ideas... I just need my time, some sort of break from a life I don't always recognize as mine. That's why I hate when Jack asks me why I smile; as if I never did, as if I were just sad. I am not. I made choices knowing beforehand what they would mean.

Like marrying Stanley, embracing socialite spheres and accept the intricate principles defined by such community.

So I don't mind if I don't share my husband's bed anymore or if he doesn't even notice that I wear some necklace he hasn't bought to me. Just like I don't give a damn about what people can think of Will and I.

Karen.

…

"And you, Karen... What are your resolutions for this new year?"

Someone passed next to her with a bottle of beer in hand then disappeared among the crowd of dancers that had invaded one of Will's colleagues' living-room. Settled on a sofa, she shrugged at Jack and took a sip of her Vodka; let her eyes scan the place until she found him. He was talking to some guy, looked happy and relaxed. She swallowed hard.

"Oh honey, what I know? Maybe look for a new backup pharmacist or something..."

Will's brown eyes suddenly caught up her own gaze – as if he had felt her hazel eyes on him – but she didn't smile, didn't move. She still could feel his hands travel down her back – his lips on her neck – as their thrusts had sped up the beats of her heart a few hours earlier. Her body molded to his and sat on his lap she had moaned against his ear, bitten his lips through lustful kisses; her legs squeezing his waist tightly, her hips brushing his knees.

They had made love twice. He had arrived, they had settled down a new date for their next encounter and locking her eyes with his, she had begun to undress slowly only to finish clutched to his waist; his chest brushing her breasts suggestively enough to become exciting.

"And you, Jackie?"

"Find out who your lover is..."

This is when the reminiscence of the lustful afternoon crashed, that she turned her head around to look at her friend with astonishment; confusion in her eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

The seconds seemed to last an eternity and for some ridiculous reason, she wished Will had been there by her side instead of flirting a few steps away with some guy. The loud music, the crowd, New Year's Eve... Too many elements that went against the eventuality of her ending up trapped in the nets of some vulnerability but all of a sudden, she felt weak; nude before Jack.

"I was kidding!"

She looked at him laugh but didn't manage to join him. Instead she stood up, went for another drink and made her way out on the large terrace overlooking Chelsea. The first drag calmed her down, the second sent her in another world – a reassuring one.

"Do you think that we all have secrets?"

She didn't know why she said that to Grace who had found a seat there instead of plunging back in the decadence of her past afternoon and perhaps the perspective to make it last a bit longer before the next morning. She wanted him. Right now. Right there. No mattered that he was talking to someone else.

"I know that Will has no secret to me."

She didn't say a word but couldn't help raising an eyebrow with irony and sarcasm before Grace's reply. She couldn't have found a worse example as a matter of fact. But she didn't know it and had no reason to. Somehow satisfied to know a lot more about Will than her friend did, Karen took a sip of her Vodka and nodded.

Herself ignoring that she didn't know the whole truth about Will either; that as much as they had been sleeping together for years, he remained secretive towards her. That's why he hadn't told her that he had gone to Morningside Heights the day before and waited next to The Hungarian Pastry Shop. That's why he hadn't mentioned the long hours of wait in the cold and how close to resignation he had been until on his right, a woman had caught up his attention; mysteriously enough. She was wearing glasses, hair in a loose bun and makeup free – a tweed coat buttoned up to her neck, barely covering a pair of jeans. She had entered the shop for several minutes when he had finally made the connection.

But how could you go from an Upper East Side socialite style to a Morningside Heights student allure? And why?

So she might have known some things that Grace ignored but still, he hadn't told her about that.


	7. January 7th

**January, 7th**

It is the way she was walking – hands in the pockets of her tweed jacket but looking straight in front of her with an odd defiance – that made me stop on her, that made me observe her face with attention. Her lips were bare and free of any red lipstick, her complexion almost transparent without blush on her cheeks while the only sign of femininity seemed to come from the subtle eyeliner hidden behind her glasses. It wasn't Karen Walker there, a few steps away from me, but the ghost of an invisible person I had never had a chance to meet before. She looked older – a bit tired – and terribly real; too much, maybe.

I didn't come in, didn't pass the doors of The Hungarian Pastry Shop. It might have been snowing but I remained on the sidewalk observing her through the large windows. Settled in the depths of a chair, she took out of her bag a notebook then began to write only to look up at the fireplace in front of her from time to time.

Nobody went for her except a waitress bringing on a mug of tea along with a few biscuits. If she barely touched the food, she asked for a refill of her mug twice; nonetheless focused on what I had mistaken once for her agenda.

I don't really mind her not having told me – or anyone else – about her Tuesday activities. It is not what stirs up my curiosity but the fact she looks nothing like the rest of the time; as if she didn't want to be seen and even less recognized. It doesn't make sense unless you have something to hide.

She didn't go to Morningside Heights yesterday, probably the first time it happened in a very long while but as much as I waited opposite the street – warm in some coffee store – she didn't appear. Blame it on Stanley since he got arrested a few days ago. I should have known that it would break her routine. It is odd how the situation is necessarily bringing us closer to each other but yet in distinctive circumstances... I don't know how we are going to handle it, if she will find the courage to rely on me. She did once in the past and this is how she ended up in my arms.

But what is going to happen now that we already have that? And what about her Tuesdays, what about the serenity that had lit up her eyes by then? What about my chances to ever know about who she really is?

Will.

…

For long hours she had debated in silence – sat at her desk in Grace's office - on whether her presence owned enough pertinence to make it to the hotel suite or not. It would be odd, perhaps a bit awkward but yet convincing herself that she had nothing better to do with her time she had gone there; unable to resist the urge to feel his chest under the palm of her hands.

"What are you waiting for?"

Sighing loudly, she stood up and placed herself in front of him. He had sat down on the bed quietly and remained there for what looked like an eternity now. It made her feel uneasy.

"I had assumed that you wouldn't come, actually."

"Then why are you here? Obviously for the same reasons I am. So let's get it started now honey if you don't mind."

In a fluid and quick movement she knelt down before him and went for his belt, unzipped his pants. It didn't take her long to discard her own top as well and her hand was already going underneath his gray boxers when he suddenly pushed her away; gently enough but with a firmness that made her lose her balance. She found herself on the floor, looking up at him with confusion; astonishment.

"What is the matter with you, Will?"

"Your husband is in jail and you are down on your knees – top off – about to suck me at some hotel."

"And so what? Just because he got arrested means I am not supposed to have a sexual life?"

She hadn't meant to be harsh but her voice snapped the air with iciness. Shaking, she clenched her fists and kept on staring at him defiantly. It might have been the end of the afternoon, they weren't meeting for tea. Or at least she wasn't, in spite of everything.

"I am not here to talk about Stanley but to have my way with you which didn't seem to bother you that much for the past four years so if you are not in the mood then go away and call me when you fancy a little fuck with me."

Before his silence, she stood up and turned on her heels with frustration only to get stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"Wait..."

They had never argued during their secret encounters. It was the first time and if she had to be honest, it was an odd moment to face; a delicate one. Slowly enough, she turned around and stared at his lap. Not saying a word; waiting for his remark.

"You know what I meant, Karen."

"But I don't want to talk about it now."

Without waiting for a reply, she shook her head and unzipped her skirt; let it slide down her legs before pushing it away with her feet. She took her stilettos off, unhooked her bra and got rid of her garter belts along with the rest of her underwear. This time she had gone for his brown eyes, mischievously enough but with a self-determination that kept him quiet.

Fully naked, she lay him on the bed and straddled him; brushed his lips.

"I don't want to talk about it now."

She kissed him, let her hand go down until it passed underneath his boxers. His skin was warm there, soft. She needed all of this.


	8. January 14th

**January, 14th**

Stanley got arrested. For years he lied to me – hid a part of his life – but what can I say about that if we consider I am not doing better on my own? Perhaps you will find it ironical if not simply deserved... As if at some point you always end up paying for your faults on a way or another and here I am, trying to deal with journalists I have never heard about before; trying to find the words to explain something that a few days ago I still ignored.

He says that he is sorry, that he knows he hurt me and I shouldn't have to be the one facing all of this... I just want to slap him then turn on my heels and pretend that nothing ever happened. This is how we did until then, how we solved our problems. Words, frustration and an ounce of despair then life went back to normal under a too heavy quietness. But now that he is in jail, I have lost our references and I don't know what to do, or what to say. Jack doesn't understand why I don't want to go and visit him out there and Grace doesn't dare to tell me anything about it.

I feel lonely, kind of broken down into pieces. I have never been good at dealing with major changes in my life. They tend to paralyze me, to make me realize that I am not this big; this strong. And I hate it. I hate being vulnerable and weak because it is a waste of time, just like crying. It is the day you abandon yourself to your feelings that you abdicate and lose the game. I can't afford it.

It must be why I clutch to Will like that, as if he were the last essential part of my life. Is it sad? I don't know and to be honest I don't really mind that much. When all the rest is falling apart, it is good to feel the heat of his flesh against mine; his lips going down my neck. He wants me to talk but I can't. A word per kiss, perhaps... In the silence of the hotel room and the shortness of our breath.

It is an upside down world, isn't it? I wish it weren't that complicated. I wish we could go back to more basic elements and we would be happy. I hate the pain, and the lies; all these appearances that seem to define an adult life. I have embraced them because there was no other choice but... I am tired today, and drunk maybe. I should go to sleep for a while then head to our hotel suite.

Once there, I forget everything.

Besides, Will is quite an entertaining way to keep me busy.

Karen.

…

Her moist lips brushed his neck in a smile as she held him tight against her shivering body; her legs up around his waist – hand in his hair. His tongue brushed her shoulder and she felt his breath coming by waves on her bare skin there, the heat of his body in hers sending shivers down her spine.

They hadn't even made it to the bed. He had closed the door behind him and she had rushed to his lips, unzipped his pants there. It had had to be rough, deprived of delicacy and foreplay. She was angry, too angry to deal with tenderness.

"I need you to come along with me to Yale this weekend."

As much as she wasn't expecting any romantic remark, Will's words took her aback as he finally put her back feet on the ground and went for a glass of water in the bathroom. Eyes lost in wonder, she stayed there against the door and counted the seconds passing by in silence. They should have gone to bed and had sex there because she was dying for his arms right now. She was cold, all of a sudden; lonely.

"What do you want me to do out there?"

"Just accompany me..."

As he came back from the bathroom, she hurried under the blanket looking for some heat; hoping that he would join her, quietly. He didn't.

"I know people there, honey. People who know Stanley, who know that we are married."

"I will book separate bedrooms. Grace can't come because of her aunt's birthday and I need a feminine presence for the dinner I am invited to as a member of the lawyer society of... Well, and so here you are. Unless you have other plans?"

She locked her eyes with his but didn't say a word. Until then they had kept whatever they were doing for a private sphere – a very private one – and she liked it this way around. She didn't want to be seen in public with him, couldn't afford it. Even less now that her husband had been arrested.

Shaking her head, she got up and grabbed her bag; opened the door.

"I am sorry but I can't."

She didn't hail a cab this time when stepping out of the hotel but simply walked up Madison Avenue in silence. The wind of January was icy on her cheeks – burning her lungs – but at least it had the credits to remind her that she hadn't stopped breathing. The mansion was plunged in the dark except for a few dimmed lights in the stairs. In a weird automatism she opened her mouth to call his name but realized all of a sudden that Stanley wasn't there. He was in jail.

Clenching her fists, she hurried to her bedroom and got rid of her clothes until she found herself with nothing but her underwear; her garter belts. The tears that were now running on her face had ruined the makeup she had applied with precision in the morning. She frowned at the image sent back, swallowed hard. In a gesture of rage she tore off her garter belts and put a large cashmere sweater on then rushed to her desk where all her products had sagely been lined up.

She took off her fake eyelashes, her contact lenses. Some cleansing milk on a cotton, she erased the last ounce of blush on her cheeks – the red of her lips – and the black line over her eyes until her face found back its delicate complexion, a fair one. She grabbed her glasses, put them on and observed herself in the mirror.

Her hazel eyes had stopped glimmering without mascara. Her lips looked dry, barely pink. She undid her hair and there she was, observing someone who didn't match with her public persona. She seemed older and tired; hit by the passing of time. Lonely.

Too lonely.

She took her cell phone out of her purse, typed a message before sending it.

_At what time do you come to_

_pick me up on Saturday morning?_


	9. January 17th

**January, 17th**

She isn't fine. You can see it in her eyes if you manage to catch up this glance she has when she thinks that all of a sudden it is safe and nobody is looking at her anymore. Within a fraction of second pain is replacing her smile and there she is, alone and disarmed. If only I could take her in my arms by then – tell her that it is going to be alright – but she doesn't allow anyone to do so. Instead she pretends to be fine or just ignores your attempt of attention.

The idea came from Grace. To be honest, I would have never offered her to come along with me for the weekend at Yale; for obvious reasons, the same ones that pushed her to turn down my invitation in the first place.

"She needs some change, some fresh air."

As soon as the words hit the air, I knew that Grace was right and I couldn't but ask Karen to accompany me. I might have lied to her about the reason why I ended up asking her to do me such favor but can we really say that it is the most important? Or a tiny detail that brushes the lines of invisibility.

I don't know how we are going to deal with it – whether it should embrace the rules of the hotel suite or on the contrary follows the principles of our friendship – but oddly enough, I am looking forward to it. I don't really mind if she comes up with politically incorrect remarks during the dinner and makes people blush because at the end, it will just be her and me. Nobody else, no limits whatsoever; no fear to cross Jack and Grace. And who knows... Perhaps under the sun of New Haven she will dare to speak, to pour all the things that lay on her heart so heavily.

It has been four years now. Isn't it supposed to be a long time, to make some sense at the end? Actually, apart from Michael, she is the only person I have ever stayed with for so long. Ironical enough considering my poor interest in women. I don't know what it is that keeps me so close to her, almost like addicted after all these years. I have no idea but still, there it is and when I see the pain she suffers from her husband's arrest... I can't stand it. It makes me mad, sad. Karen is important to me. I am just not sure to what kind of degree.

Will.

…

The sun pierced through the window, sliding on the hardwood floor while the shadows of the Gothic architecture got reflected on the pale walls. It was the smell – this unique combination of wax and old books – that had plunged her in a daydream of vivid reminiscence as they had passed the door of their suite on the last floor of The Berkeley College. Some things weren't meant to change, apparently.

"The Law School is..."

"I know where it is. Though anyway I assume that you will feel like having a shower or something – get properly ready for dinner – after your intervention."

They should have arrived the day before and avoided then the delicate situation of lacking time, Will having to rush almost immediately to the student audience waiting for him.

"Right... What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I have brought along a book."

Though she preferred to write or go for a walk through the alleys of the university and got lost in a few memories she had thought forgotten – deleted.

What would happen next? She knew that at some point, she would face Sidney – probably in the exact evening – and she would have to explain a lot of things to Will; things she had done her best to draw a line under with more or less success in all honesty. She wasn't ready for that, would never be.

She turned her head around only to realize that he had left and she was standing there alone by the old fireplace; vaguely looking by the windows at the bare trees of the courtyard of the college. Perhaps she should unpack then head down to the common room and sit in one of the large, leather armchairs with a book and a hot chocolate.

But instead she went straight to the bathroom, took her clothes off and let the water fill the tub while a wave of memories came to her mind with an unexpected harshness. She didn't even need to close her eyes to picture it all, to hear back the voices and the laughs. When accepting to accompany Will, she had not imagined that the past would go back to her so heavily; with bitterness, regrets as well. Perhaps she should have stayed in New York instead.

With a joy barely contained, she sat down in the tub and extended her leg. If she remembered well, she could close the door like that; with a brief push of her foot. The slam indicated that it was her own time and nobody was supposed to come in. There was jazz in the background, sometimes a glass of wine...

Her foot hit the door. Slammed it.

...

She should have known better obviously when a few hours later she got a message from Will, asking her to come along for lunch. It didn't cross her mind though, focused as she was on the official dinner and the fact that it would be when they would meet again. Lunch was about sandwiches not caviar and expensive champagnes. He had nothing to do there. But still...

She was turning around – going down to a cafeteria with Will – when his voice in her back made her freeze; swallow hard.

"Karen... Such a long time."

Reluctantly enough she turned on her heels and plunged her eyes in his. He hadn't changed that much except for the gray hair and the invisible veil of time embracing his face. He was smiling at her, brightly. She clentched her fists.

"Hello, Sidney."


	10. January 17th part two

**January, 17th**

**Part Two**

I never graduated from Sarah Lawrence. I ran out of money before being able to do so and had to leave when I turned twenty-years old. Things got bad from then on – wrong decisions, wrong people – until I landed in New Haven and met Henry. He was a nice, successful businessman who had already divorced twice but didn't seem to care that much. He didn't have children; I never knew why.

He didn't flirt with me, eventually took me to the restaurant a few times then one day decided that I had to get an education; a real one. Following the tradition of his family, he sent me to Yale where I would graduate a few years later in Philosophy. I wasn't supposed to become a scientist or a lawyer but at least did he assume that women – for as much as they mostly remained housewives in his entourage – could take advantage of some subjects to be able to have interesting conversations during dinners and socialite events.

We got married after I got my Master's Degree in the courtyard of the Calhoun College at Yale. He died in a car crash a few months later, leaving his whole fortune to me. I abandoned my PhD – succumbing more than anything else to the easiness and comfort of the socialite sphere – and moved to New York. I met Stanley the very next year. We had a brief affair before I found out that he was actually married. It took us a decade – and one more marriage from me – to finally become Mr. and Mrs. Walker. But even after all these years, I am not sure if he was more than a mere whim.

Henry was my guardian angel. I owe him everything and even though our union wasn't one of the most conventional, I loved him; in my own way. He believed in me, gave me a chance to prove a few things starting with ambition; willingness. He might have been the paternal figure I was lacking as well.

As for Sidney... He is one of Henry's brothers. We studied at Yale together even though he had entered The Law School with the determination to become a professor there. I don't hate him. He is a smart and nice person but he unfortunately tends to remind me of a part of my life I would like to keep for myself. Not that I married his brother for money but still, my first marriage still matches a bit too much with the kind of life my mother had desperately tried to teach me.

I wish I had the courage to tell these words to Will instead of writing them down in this diary. It is not that I wouldn't trust him but... I can't. I haven't learned how to confess my feelings, to let people know about what I really think. This is not me, as much as sometimes I would give anything to be able to do so.

Karen.

…

She knew that at some point, she would have to tell him a couple of things – about Sidney mostly – but for the moment Will hadn't asked for anything in particular and she silently thanked him for it. After all she had warned him about her acquaintances on the campus and had simply introduced Sidney as some old friend. What kind of place did he have in her life now anyway? What kind of role did he play? She wished she could have said "none" but then the ghost of Henry seemed to invade her mind and she didn't dare to use the word.

"It was a nice dinner, wasn't it?"

Abandoning herself to a sudden lightness – trying to push aside any wonder concerning Sidney and her past – she nodded at Will and grabbed his hand under the pale moonlight. The breeze of the night was cold but bearable enough on her nape as they were heading back to their suite at Berkeley College. She had never known what it was about Yale but it made her feel like walking endlessly; aimlessly as well. They reached the arches of the Gothic building. She stopped, looked up at the sky in the hope to catch some falling stars but it was pitch dark.

She was about to make a comment about the lightened buildings when his lips captured hers in a deep, long awaited kiss. Her gasp came to die in his mouth and as much as she felt heat rush up her cheeks, she let him do; no mattered it was in public. After all it was late and the courtyard had been deserted for a long while now.

The only indication they made it to their suite on the last floor resulted to be the important difference of temperatures that hit her skin; how warm it suddenly was around her, warm and comforting. To the sigh of their kisses accompanied the rustle of their coats falling down on the floor, their steps leading them to the bed. His bed. If for the whole day she had wondered how they would behave around each other once coming back from dinner, it all had vanished within a second and there she was now, getting rid of his shirt eagerly.

His skin was soft under the palm of her hand, hot. Soon enough she found herself laying down on the bed, under him. They hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, going for each other's body instead; easing the latent desire that had grown all day long. His lips traveled down her neck, caressed her collar bone and at the contact of his fingertips with her thigh, she couldn't help but smile. Brightly, in the dark. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes.

She liked the way Will used to undress her. Slowly, gentle enough as if he didn't want to forget to kiss the slightest inch of skin and yet doing so with a delicate firmness that always tended to drive her crazy and there she was then, pleading him in silence to finally lay down on her, making her his.

She let him take her dress off, unhook her bra and get rid of the rest of her underwear but as she felt his mouth kissing her inner thigh – his fingers caressing the soft skin there – she swallowed hard, pushed him away.

"No, not tonight..."

His eyes were glimmering in the night and as he looked up at her, she smiled; trying to calm down the beats of her heart.

"I just want you."

Feeling the heat of his body on hers sent a shiver down her spine, her moan sliding on his lips as she found back his mouth. She held him tight that night, very tight.


	11. January 18th

**January, 18th**

When she ties her hair back, I lose myself in the contemplation of her nape. The light comes to caress it in delicate paths of shadows. She looks slender by then, fragile. I love planting a kiss at the base of her spine where a strand of hair seems to always refuse to remain tied up and the breeze passes through it – makes it float in the air – while my lips feed themselves of the heat of her flesh. The contact is furtive but nonetheless stirs up a whole series of singular feelings. She arches her back, moans and sighs as my hands travel through her body. We are having sex – most of the times with a sensual roughness – and it is when I know I can't resist her. The exact moment she leans her head backwards and frowns under the pleasure of our thrusts, something happens; a sort of chemistry that takes away our inhibitions, drives us crazy for each other.

Some days – like this one – I can't stop thinking about her. As much as I try to concentrate on any other kind of task, my thoughts always take me back to Karen. I want to kiss her deeply, feel her shiver under my hands and whisper her name against her ear when I am close to my own exhilaration.

She is the only person who does that to me, developing some sort of lustful addiction where the simple mention of her name can arouse me and set off a whole series of fantasies in my head. Some of them make it to the hotel suite while others remain unsaid. We don't speak that much by then, don't share a lot of thoughts probably because we are friends beforehand and the situation we have abdicated to has nothing to do with such relation.

She wasn't in my bed this morning. I woke up and nobody was by my side, the pillow being cold for a long while yet. I didn't want her to retreat to her own room in the middle of the night emphasizing thus the purely sexual purpose of our current relation. She isn't a prostitute I would pay to get some pleasure for a couple of hours. This is not how it should be, how it should look like. But still, she went away in silence once I fell asleep as if we had nothing to share except erotic fantasies.

She doesn't want to speak, no matters she isn't fine and her life is breaking down into pieces. I thought that she trusted me but even in intimate moments, she finds a way to run away from me. The thing is... As soon as she locks herself in silence and an aura of mystery seems to wrap her up, she appears more and more appealing to me. This is how it works, why I am addicted to her. I know absolutely nothing about her real person and that I can't stand it.

Will.

…

"How is Stanley doing?"

He had calculated everything, from the moment Will would stand up and go for a couple of drinks to the bomb effect his question would have on her but if there was something Sidney ignored, it was how she had changed through the years; how stronger she had grown. Swallowing hard her anger, she went for his eyes and locked hers with his.

"Spending delightful days in jail, as you already know."

Not that Sidney had remained among her closest acquaintances but as a lawyer and a socialite himself, he couldn't ignore her husband's arrest. His question – taking her aback – had been low, hurtful enough. But the worst of all was that it didn't match at all with his persona and it let her confused and disarmed. She looked at him nod on the other side of the table, grab a slice of bread.

"That must be why you are fucking your attorney in the meantime. Are you hoping that it will get your husband out sooner or on the contrary, this is more some kind of hobby?"

She remained silent, uncomfortable and lost. As much as she would have wanted to reply, words didn't seem to make it to her brain and sentences barely looked like ghosts in the fog of her mind; dark souls wandering there without making the slightest sense. Shrugging, Sidney stared down at his plate as his hand began to play with his knife. He seemed as uncomfortable as she was.

"I saw the two of you kiss last night, under the arches of the college. I didn't want to, I just happened to be there a few feet away from you... As much as I had assumed that you would have changed through the years, I have to recognize that I wasn't expecting something that radical. This is not the Karen I got to know once. Nope... Not at all."

Will came back with two glasses of wine before she had a chance to reply, closing thus – a bit abruptly – a conversation that would haunt her mind all along the evening. She wouldn't see Sidney again since they would leave in the morning and he would remain there with a pitiful image of her; maybe not so wrong at the end though.

And when they made it back to the arches of Berkeley college, she didn't stop to contemplate the sky; didn't look up for some falling stars. Instead she remained quiet, took her shoes off once in their suite then followed Will – by automatism – to his room. They kissed, began their caresses and as he lay down letting her straddle him, her lips slowly went away from his.

Still and silent on top of him, her eyes fixed his neck; the base of his bare shoulders as her hand had a tight hold on his shirt she had taken off previously. The seconds slowed down, weighing heavily on the awkward moment.

"I can't... I am sorry."

Without any more explanation, she walked out of his room and went to hers; took off her contact lenses and got rid of the shield of makeup supposed to protect her from whatever life brought up. Once bare and fragile enough, she put her glasses on but avoided the reflection of her face in the mirror.

Even years after that night, she wouldn't be able to explain why she headed back to Will's room and in silence settled in his bed against him; not giving a damn about her unusual appearances. Perhaps she was simply too tired this time to fight anything and she had to let it go; disarmed as she was. Vaguely relieved.


	12. January 28th

**January, 28th **

It is strange how you suddenly have the feeling that everything has changed but yet waking up the very next day you realize that it all has remained the same and maybe it was just a vague dream, some hope you were subconsciously holding. Treading water is frustrating, dragging you down and letting you too disarmed to try to go back to the surface, make something of your life. Instead you waste your time on regrets and what-ifs...

This is what happened to Will and I once we came back from New Haven. I spent the entire night in his arms – vulnerable enough – and fell asleep thinking that it would never be the same, that I would wake up the next morning and face something new because of what I had dared to do there, at last. But as the skyline of Manhattan appeared in front of us, we let our old routine wrap us up. The hotel suite, the lies and the irrepressible desire to lose ourselves in erotic moments; anonymous ones. Perhaps one day we will realize that we have actually grown closer, that this weekend did have change it all forever but for the moment there is no change. No relief whatsoever.

I am not supposed to expect anything from our relation. We might be friends but I am afraid sometimes I cross the lines and hope for too much, for things that have nothing to do there between us. Perhaps it is all about Stanley and how I miss him, how I miss our couple and all the things it implies. That's why I mix everything only to find myself a bit disconnected from what I have.

I should come here more often, sit down on this chair and face the fireplace for hours. I am too cold – a bit lonely at times – and this winter is dragging me down. I need to talk to someone but the words won't come. Not even on the paper... It took me ten days to manage to go for a new page here and let the pen guide me, slowly and painfully enough. I am disappointed. I hoped for something new – if only with a soft subtlety – but I am not brave enough to go through it.

Having sex results to be satisfying and if it doesn't solve anything at least does it have the credits to get it all buried – pushed aside – for a few hours. Then I feel relaxed and fine; alive. And there is still this hope once we have caught back our breath that some day I might manage to talk. Because if I do, Will has to be the one. It is not that I want it to be that way around but the circumstances – our past – make things clear and logical like that.

Let's remain silent in the meantime. Let's hold him tight.

Karen.

…

She didn't like when they met during his lunch break. Time was running against them while a lethargy enveloped her for the rest of the day and she subconsciously shivered under the mere reminiscence of his last touch on her skin; his kisses still burning long hours after.

"I am running out of tissues, do you have one?"

"In my bag..."

Too concentrated on the way her spoon twirled around in the mug of coffee, she vaguely pointed out at her desk a few feet away and let Grace go for it. He had rested his hand on her thigh; not that the touch had resulted unusual but for whatever reason since she had come back from her lunch time with him, it had haunted her mind and plunged her into elusive daydreams. Will...

"What are you doing with these?"

It wasn't more the question than Grace's tone of voice that pushed her to look up at her friend and gave up on the reminiscence of Will's touch on her. Something stopped – maybe her heart – as she realized what her friend was holding. Something got broken then fall down into pieces.

Cowardly enough, she remained quiet and blinked.

"You are married, Karen. Your husband is in jail and I have been knowing you long enough to know a couple of things about you, starting with the fact that you are on the pill. So why do you have condoms in your bag?"

The mug of coffee was hot against the palm of her hands but she didn't notice it. Instead she remained there – in the middle of the office – disarmed and uncomfortable. How come for years lies had seemed so easy when all of a sudden she couldn't find a single one to come up with? She passed her tongue on her lips, frowned. She needed to win some time in order to find a satisfying reply.

"Are you having an affair?"

If she seemed to have a problem to make sentences, Grace on the other side couldn't stop talking even though the tone she used revealed more and more a latent anxiety.

"Of course not, who do you think I am?"

Had she sounded convincing? She couldn't say. The unexpected situation had taken her away – far from the office – and all of a sudden she had a feeling to be observing the scene from outside; as if she were not that concerned at the end. If only...

The phone rang, breaking down the awkward silence. Slowly enough, Grace took the call and within a few minutes she had grabbed her sketches and hurried out; her client waiting for her midtown. In her precipitation she had abandoned the condoms on the desk on top of some fashion magazine open to the page of a ridiculous quiz.

_What kind of lover is he?_

Putting back the condoms in her bag with a shaking hand, Karen closed the magazine and threw it in the paper basket. She had never liked irony, never liked the shades of so-called coincidences.


	13. February 6th

**February, 6th **

Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if she hadn't kissed me four years ago, if she hadn't passed her hand through my hair then whispered on my lips that there would be no regret. Would I still be seeing her once a week at the hotel? Would I nonetheless know the taste of her mouth and the smell of her skin when she shivers against me? As if it were fate and we were meant to be.

As much as I like the idea – find it appealing enough – I assume that none of this would be happening. Eventually I would be dating someone, trying to give sense to a semblance of relationship while she would keep on staring at her wedding ring and wonder if she had made once the right choices.

Then perhaps – one day if I had the courage – I would go to her and steal a kiss from her lips; just one. She wouldn't let go of me and we would spend some time together before realizing that our odd, upside down life looks brighter when in each other's arms. She would fall asleep next to me and would turn out to be the very first person I would see in the morning; for the rest of my existence, until my last breath.

I have come to this point where I am afraid to lose her, no matters we have nothing in common but the random number of a hotel room indicated on a door lost in the middle of an interminable corridor. That must be why I don't dare to say anything before her stubborn silence and the way she looks every day more and more livid; absent-minded and in pain. What if I do and she storms out, putting an end to our weekly encounters? She won't let me kiss her back, then - won't let me taste her lips again – and I will remain there alone, facing nothing but my regrets.

She might arrive every week in her Italian suit and luxury stilettos – everything under perfect control – I can't help picturing her out as she appeared at Yale when she passed the door of my room, came next to me in bed without a single word. She looked tired by then, insecure and distressed. But as she closed her eyes and fell asleep, a veil of relief embraced her face and for the very first time I knew that I was facing her very own self; the one who goes every Tuesday to Morningside Heights.

I still have no idea why she goes there in the first place, why she insists on being called by her maiden name; why she changes her appearances to spend a whole afternoon writing down in what seems to be a diary. I wish she told me about it and let go of the rest because I love the woman I see by then. She is the one I want to kiss, the one I want to make love with. The one who got me addicted.

Will.

…

Her forehead leaned on his, she stared intently at his lips and focused on the way his short breath melt in hers as they both tried to calm down their heartbeats. A long minute passed by before she noticed her finger caressing his jaw with regularity, the rest of her hand through his hair while he was holding tight her waist. Would they see each other for Valentine's Day? She hoped so, quietly enough.

But in the meantime and instead of elaborating a thousand scenarios that would take her away from the moment being, she came closer to him – rested her head on his shoulder. Will was one of the rare men who seemed to feel the urge to keep a constant touch with her after a love-making session. If only for intertwined fingers – his leg brushing hers – he never broke contact, at absolutely no moment.

Except when frustration or roughness led them to a whole different game.

"Grace thinks that you are having an affair."

She felt how his body got tensed under his very own words. He had probably been thinking about it for a long time yet, not knowing what to do or say. Her fingers slid along his hand before holding it tight. If she had got used to the latent pain in her heart, the fragility of his voice took her aback.

"What did you say to her?"

"That the only other person you were presently seeing was me. It is an ironical alibi, isn't it?"

Something began to boil in her lower stomach – some sort of warm feeling – and as she leaned up on her elbows to look into his eyes, she couldn't help smiling brightly. She burst out laughing unexpectedly. Her finger followed the shapes of his mouth before coming to rest on his neck.

"After all these years, I guess I can say that I like it a lot, honey..."

It is only when she found back his lips in a deep and sensual kiss that the words she had just used made it to her mind, setting off a whole series of interrogations and doubts. It had sounded like a declaration, the kind that you gave when you weren't brave enough to say things clearly, to assume your feelings. It wasn't intended; not that way, not with him.

She rolled on her back led by his hand on her hip and let him go on top of her. An ambulance seemed to be stuck in traffic on the street below, its siren resounding loud in the silent room; making echo to their sighs. As his lips slowly traveled down her neck – brushing her collar bone – she closed her eyes and swallowed hard; a hand pressing tightly his back.

"I like it a lot, honey."

Too much though maybe.


	14. February 14th

**February, 14th**

I think we are losing control of everything. The implicit rules we had settled down, our beloved routine we clutched to almost desperately... It is all breaking down into pieces. Just like that, with a troubling suddenness that leaves us disarmed, confused and lost. What is happening to us, why now? I wish I had an answer for every single question that twirls around in my head and steals my nights. I am not doing fine.

We saw each other four times this week. As much as we had made plans for tonight – sticking thus to a regular schedule of some sort – a whole series of... Of what, by the way? I don't even know. The notion of subconsciousness doesn't seem appropriate. Non-assumed desires, perhaps. Not that I prefer it but if I have to be honest, it is the one that matches the best what happened.

Text messages, emails and impromptu visits led us to the hotel room almost every single day and these bare hours spent without him adopted the shades of a slow, latent torture; a bitter eternity.

We made love almost regretfully as if nothing else was left to save us from whatever we are supposed to be. The warm cotton sheets of the bed, the softness of the leather armchair and the fluid water of the bath tub carried us all along; sweeping away a list of unsolvable problems if only for a few hours. I still can feel his hands on my lower back, sliding down my hips before caressing my breasts. And his lips... I need his kisses.

We have to do something, take a decision before it being too late and our lives find themselves reduced to ashes. I might know all that but it doesn't prevent me from being scared of the consequences. I have a bad feeling about them; the wrong sentiment that I will end up losing him.

We can't remain in this dead-end path and as much as it might break my heart, I need to calculate it all again. After all this is what I did at the beginning so why would I not keep it on for what looks like the end of our singular relationship? If I think too much about it then I will lose the common sense that still pushes me to see things straight – I will lose my courage. This is why I can't afford to wait any longer; no matters the date of the calendar.

I have always hated changes. Did I ever tell you so?

Tonight will be no exception, obviously.

I already hate it, deeply hate it.

Karen.

…

Foot up on a chair, she proceeded to put back on her garter belts; stockings molding her legs with some daring sensuality. She had chosen deep, dark red underwear before coming to the hotel. Perhaps in an odd attempt to celebrate Valentine's Day unless black lace announced too quickly something she didn't want to think about. As they had found themselves in the room, she had settled down another date as if nothing special was about to happen – as if their routine had no reason whatsoever to break down – and she had rushed to him with a bitter frenzy. He had bought her flowers, red roses.

"Do you think that being secretive equals to lying?"

She zipped up her skirt then turned around to stare at him in disbelief. Jack and Grace had not stopped lately to point out the fact that she was too secretive. It got on her nerves. She hadn't expected Will to come up with the topic as well but there he was, already dressed up, sat on the edge of the unmade bed.

"Do you think that I keep too many things for myself? Is that what you are insinuating?"

He looked calm, in total control of himself. She envied him for the tone of her voice sounding way too harsh, full of nervousness.

"This is not what I am saying. Do you think that the respective notions of Secrets and Truth can get along?"

"According to Plato in _The Republic _the Truth is like a drug but the choice to spread it or not belongs to the ones he names "the guardians". As much as we know that this essay is beforehand about... Political philosophy, it doesn't really please the ideal of modern conscious freedom. Which would mean that we are not necessarily the ones who choose the abnegation of Veracity. Actually I..."

It suddenly hit her mind – too many elements connected to each other with such fluidity that it couldn't be a mere coincidence. She swallowed hard, put her stilettos on and frowned at him.

"When did you meet Sidney? _Secrets, Truth and Lies: the invisible limits – Plato theory_, this was the subject of my Master's Degree in Philosophy and only Sidney knows about it. When did you see him?"

"Last week... I am your attorney, Karen. Do you really think that I hadn't noticed he had the same name as your first husband? Not that he had told me a lot about you when at Yale for the congress but still... I met him by The Public Library last week, by accident. This is when he told me about you, your studies and your marriage to Henry."

Anger was boiling in her lower stomach, anger and pain. Clenching her fists, she remained silent before Will; unable to speak, to say the slightest thing.

"I don't understand why you kept this for yourself, Karen. There is nothing to be ashamed of... On the contrary. Perhaps you married him because he had been nice to you but obviously you still cared about him. He gave you the chance of your life, the chance to prove that you deserved to become someone... You shouldn't keep his name under silence like that. Instead, you should be proud of him, proud to say that someone gave you the opportunity to now be who you are."

"Oh save it up! The way I deal with my past is nobody's business but mine. You came here, fucked me and kept it for yourself all along? This is disgusting. How dared you..."

"Karen..."

"Shut up! Is there something else you know about me and that you would like to say? Something you apparently assumed to be in your full right to learn even though I had decided to remain quiet about it? Unless you want an explanation about... What I know? Maybe a..."

She didn't finish her sentence and stared in disbelief at the loyalty card Will took out of his brief case. She didn't need to take it in hand to recognize it. The logo of the Hungarian Pastry Shop was enough.

"You lost it one day and it landed in my bag... You don't like people learning facts about your life without you knowing it before but maybe if you didn't hide so many elements, we wouldn't feel the urge to do it all in your back. I went to Morningside Heights, I saw you there. Why do they call you by your maiden name? Why do you look like someone else?"

The tears were rushing to her eyes but nothing managed to come out. It all remained there, stuck at the corner. And it hurt.

"Well, do the math if you are that smart! Have you thought for a second that maybe I was tired of that? These clothes, the layers of makeup and this bloody ring on my finger... This is not me. I am not Stan's and I don't belong to The Upper East Side. Do you really think that I would have slept with you for so long if everything was alright? This is my way to deal with all that and even though I do rely on these appearances, some days I just need my own fucking time! And I don't see why everybody should know about that. I hope you are happy now. Knowing it all like that..."

She forgot the roses. As she slammed the door, rushed outside and realized that nothing had gone as she had planned, the bouquet remained on the desk of the hotel room along with a card.

_Will you be my Valentine, tonight?_


	15. February 15th

**February, 15th**

I should have run after her. I should have grabbed her hand and never let go of it. I don't mind if this is the kind of scenes that is only supposed to happen in movies – I don't give a damn if it actually doesn't match the rules of reality – because by now she would be mine and nothing would be over.

I wasn't ready for this. As a matter of fact, she constantly took me aback from our very first kiss to the way she rushed out last night. All I did was to follow her steps, day after day; year after year. She led us through a well-studied scheme but something went wrong at some point and before the eventuality she might lose control over our relationship, she decided to put an abrupt end to it.

Ironically enough, it is when losing her that I realize I knew a lot more about her than what I thought in the first place. Perhaps I had no idea about her past – some of her current activities – but her temper has no secret for me; nor does the way she thinks, the way she deals with facts and situations. I should have been more attentive to all of this then perhaps, we would still see each other once a week. What are we going to do now? I had grown accustomed to the hotel room and the heat of her body against mine; the lies to Grace and Jack. My references are gone and the only thing left is a bouquet of red roses I didn't find the courage to throw away in the street.

I wish I had known her before, way back then at Yale. She wouldn't have married anyone yet and who knows? Perhaps I would have had my chance. What is certain is that there wouldn't have been all these principles that weighed a lot on us from the very beginning. We never really forgot them, never really stopped caring. Wrong moment, wrong person, wrong life. But still, I am not ready to let her go away like that.

It is strange how someone rushes into your life one day – without any warning – and breaks down all the elements you had learned to recognize as the bases of your existence. Everything tips over and you are left there completely disarmed, lost but carried on by a singular lightness as if you had been struck by evidence; the strength of logic. I don't like women but I love her. I don't know why, it just happens to be that way.

You see, I shouldn't have stayed in the hotel room last night. I should have yelled her name and told her all these things I had never dared to say out loud. Because life is fragile, too ephemeral. And look at me now, look at what is left of us: a bouquet of flowers that one day will be reduced to dust and me. I am alone.

Will.

…

Against all expectations, she hadn't called in sick and made it to the office as if nothing had happened. Her husband was still in jail and to the eyes of everyone, she was trying to face it with awkwardness; a tad of pride that didn't always match with the rest. And if some assumed that she had a broken heart – right enough, besides – they just kept on ignoring the exact reason of the painful feeling.

"I am honestly getting tired of the behavior you two adopt when seeing each other. Could you just not make an effort? Those teasing, ignoring games are going on my nerves. I can't stand them anymore."

If her eyes were locked with Grace's, her mind had remained on the minutes previous to the remark as he had entered the office – briefcase in hand – and deliberately ignored her. Under other circumstances it would have made her smile and she would have played along but this time it had gone straight to her heart. Teeth clenched, she hadn't said a word except at the very last second when he had headed back to the door. A cold, humiliating comment had slid on her lips and without a gaze to Will, she had grabbed some fashion magazine to falsely focus on it.

"What happened again that pushed the two of you to argue and stop talking to each other like a bunch of ridiculous children? What is it that you are permanently getting on each other like that? I know that you don't hate him, just as he doesn't hate you. Then what is it? What is it that you constantly feel the need to go through this every single day?"

It wasn't fair. One more time Grace was yelling at her when as soon as he approached, she stayed quiet and didn't dare to say a single word; as if it never was Will's fault and the only person who had to pay was her, Karen. Karen. Karen. Karen.

"People might think that it is funny and actually it used to make me laugh, and smile. But now... Now it is plainly unbearable. You need to do something. Do you hear me? It has to stop."

Anger and frustration – pain from the night before – were now boiling in her lower stomach, shortening her breath; making her shake uncontrollably. She couldn't take it anymore. First Stanley and his arrest she had had to deal with and excuse herself from as if it had been her fault – as if she had been the one hiding money on tropical islands – and now the tensed situation with Will. What was it that every time something tedious happened, she was the one people pointed out? Did she look that guilty?

"Damn... Karen, say something! Do you hear me? What happened that the two of you can't stop going from a crisis to another? What kind of relation do you have with Will?"

The moment she stood up and opened her mouth to speak, she knew that it would be over; that after it, there wouldn't be a chance to go backwards anymore and delete the scene. It would be too late but she had to do it.

"I fucked him! For four years I saw him every week and fucked him. Are you satisfied, now? I fucked him. This is the relation I had with Will. I fucked him."

It is only when she grabbed her bag – the cold tone of her voice still floating in the office – and turned around that she realized Jack had come in. He had remained close to the door and was now looking at her in disbelief, obviously confused before the scene.

She didn't let him a chance – nor to Grace – to say anything. She hurried out of the office and made it to the street barely noticing how loud her heart was pounding.


	16. March 26th

**March, 26th**

When I was a child – a very young one, before my father passed away – I loved seesawing. Looking up at the sky, I had the feeling that I could almost reach the clouds and fly; for being free, light. One day I fell down, scratched my knees and categorically refused from then on to approach a single swing. This is how I deal with things, events that punctuate my life. As soon as they scare me, I run away and hope that they won't catch me back.

The problem is that I can't live without the three of them. I mean I know I did before – not such a long time ago – but if I look around me today and try to make a conclusion, the only thing I can say is that I don't make sense if they aren't by my side. I am bare, disarmed and pointless. Probably sad to the eyes of a lot of people too coward to even dare to say it out loud. I could go back to the semblance of life I had and... Wait. No, I can't. Because I have no hold over time passing by, over past mistakes and I am unable to go backwards.

Especially now.

I am looking forward to seeing her and yet I can't help a sentiment of apprehension to spread over my body, wrapping up my mind of a gray veil. She went to me. She made the first step and I guess it was needed. It couldn't have been the other way around, because of my behavior and the things I had told her the last time at the office. As a matter of fact, Grace's sudden and unexpected email brought back a couple of hopes at a moment when I had begun to think that I might have no other choice but to accept the truth and turn the page once and for all.

It took me more than a month to come back here and write. On several occasions I even found myself on the verge to throw this diary away, burn it down in the fireplace and observe how the flames would have swallowed a regretful episode of my existence. My hands are shaking and if I have stopped crying now, my eyes still hurt. The salt of my tears probably dried them to the point of irritation. I feel lost and immensely lonely. Perhaps it is the price to pay for all these lustful, prohibited years with Will.

And if it is – if Grace asks me the question I dread the most – what would I say? That if I had to start it all over again, take advantage of a new beginning and have a chance to make a difference, to choose wisely. What would I do?

I convinced myself that I had always been in control of everything, that the way I had ended up kissing Will had been calculated and weighed but the truth is, I might have just followed something else; a sort of strength I wouldn't have seen coming up and I would have been trapped in its nets all of a sudden.

Unable to escape from it anymore, not wanting to either...

I don't want to lie anymore, even if I should in order to protect someone. Because if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a single thing. And I would go to Will. Over and over until he lands his eyes on me. Because I don't regret what we have lived.

Karen.

…

The moment she saw Grace enter, a wave of heat rushed up her cheeks and she swallowed hard, trying to calm down her heartbeats. She smiled at her friend – timidly enough perhaps – and let her sit down on the armchair next to hers.

"It is a nice place."

Following Grace's gaze over the pastry shop, she nodded in silence and hid her shaking hands around a mug of green tea; took a sip of the drink.

"You have changed..."

She was wearing her glasses – hair up in a loose bun, almost no makeup on. Even her clothes were a bit informal. Unusual for whoever had never seen her in Morningside Heights until now. When Grace had suggested to meet for a drink, she had chosen the Hungarian Pastry Shop before realizing that she could not cheat there, pretend to be someone else. It wouldn't have been fair and she was tired to constantly avoid the principles she had come up with once for herself.

"I had a rough morning."

"Oh... I am sorry. Is it because of Stanley?"

"No. He is doing fine. Back to the office, already! Will did a good job to get him out so quickly. I didn't have a chance to thank him so if you don't mind, do it for me."

At the mention of Will, Grace cleared her voice nervously and nodded; her eyes focused on a point far at the end of the room. She frowned, shrugged.

"I am sorry if I didn't go back to you before but I needed time. I couldn't have come here and face you as I am doing now. It... It took me a while and a hundred conversations with Will. And Jack, who does not know what to say to you, or how. He isn't mad at you but uncomfortable enough and wants to avoid something awkward. Anyway, I am not here to talk about him but... Will misses you a lot. Actually he loves you and that's it. He hasn't told me but I am not that stupid and... I mean he doesn't even know that I am here. But what about you? Would you be ready to give him another chance? He needs you. Believe me, it isn't easy for me to say this but he does and I don't like seeing him like this, completely lost."

She had always hated these moments when there was no other choice but to be sincere and finally dare to assume feelings. She wasn't good at it, lacked the required self-confidence. Especially when it didn't match with all the rest.

"I would have given him another chance... Under other circumstances. But now I can't. I am with Stan. I am married to him."

Grace didn't say anything, simply nodded then took a sip of her coffee. She looked disappointed, a bit disarmed as well. Her reaction was unexpected but curiously enough, not as reassuring as it could have been. It might be why – before Grace's silence – Karen decided to speak, to let the words come out.

"I am pregnant. Two months and a half or so, almost three... I don't understand. For years I have tried - in vain - and all of a sudden while I am on the pill and use condoms, it works. But not at the right time, not with the right person..."

"When did you find out?"

"Three hours ago."

She laughed – bitterly enough – before bursting into tears uncontrollably. She had sworn to herself that it wouldn't happen, not in front of Grace. But there she was, unable to have a hold over her sobs, over her confusion and immense loneliness.

"What are you going to do?"

Clenching her fists, she looked up at Grace and shook her head. The tears were bringing an odd shade to the scene, something fluid like the ocean but bitter and harsh. Too strong.

"I can't... Stanley isn't the father so I can't... I can't do this to him. I can't keep it."


	17. April 7th

**April, 7th**

She didn't know. If Karen hadn't blurted it out before rushing out of the office, our relation would have remained secret because Grace hadn't guessed anything; nor had Jack as a matter of fact. It hadn't even crossed their mind, at absolutely no moment. After all there was no logic at all in this story. Right from the start we went and defied a whole series of settled facts. Perhaps it is what appealed us the most, all this prohibited part. It was tempting, too much.

We didn't argue. One day she arrived at the apartment and sat down at the table in front of me. Little by little the questions came along, wrapping up her confusion; her hurt self-esteem. But she never got mad at me, never yelled either. She took me aback but this is Grace, this is how she works. Her behavior can be unexpected at times and I love her for that.

The problem is that I can't turn the page. I might pretend that I am alright but the truth is that I need to see Karen, to talk to her and maybe start it all over again. Not as if nothing had happened – because we can't do that, it wouldn't be fair – but give ourselves a second chance if only as friends. I miss her smile and the heat of her hand against mine, the way she used to plant a kiss on my bare shoulder; our laughs.

I have met someone else, because it seemed the best to do. He is nice, attentive and smart. Under other circumstances he could have been the one except he isn't her. We aren't going anywhere together but at least it has the credits to let people think that I don't live in the past, that I can move on. It had taken a long time for Michael and even though I had finally managed to draw a line under him, I know I won't be able to do it with Karen. She is the one who made me forget him in the first place, the one I fell for unexpectedly enough.

I went to her because nothing made sense anymore. My life was upside down and I guess I assumed it was better than nothing. She was better than nothing. Some sort of entertainment... I was intrigued by her and this aura she seemed to carry along. But all of a sudden I found myself wanting more and soon enough I had grown addicted, completely dependent.

What if she has turned the page? What if I am the only one who wants to try again? What if she prefers to remain quiet over what happened? What if she doesn't care for me as I do for her? What if she thinks it is now time to make peace with Stanley? What if I am nothing to her eyes, nothing worth it? What if I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life?

What if?

Will.

…

The first thing he noticed while rushing in the hall turned out to be the way silence suddenly wrapped him up, the doors closing access to the sound of traffic outside. He was breathless – for having run such a long way down the narrow street when his cab had been stuck between two other cars – and his hands were shaking. The last ounce of hope seemed to have vanished from his heart.

It was too late, he knew it. The appointment had been scheduled twenty minutes before. A tiny lapse of time for most of the people but for him it had suddenly turned into an immense gap, a dark one which bottom vanished in the depths of his past. It was over now, obviously enough. But if the words kept on hitting his brain so hard, there was something left in his soul; a fragile flame supposed to warm up his faith.

"Excuse me, I am looking for Karen Walker. Or Delaney... Karen Delaney."

A young woman sat at the reception desk shook her head, not bothering a single gaze to him. She was chewing a gum, playing with a pen while leafing through a fashion magazine.

"Please, I need to see her. I am her attorney. Here is my card, Will Truman."

The manicured nails pushed the card back to him and with a loud sound, the receptionist closed the big magazine before daring a look up at Will.

"No, you don't understand. Karen Delaney didn't come. She should have arrived twenty minutes ago... But apparently she changed her mind. It happens a lot."

The sound of traffic wrapped him up again as he left the building and stood a bit disarmed on the dirty sidewalk. If Grace had told him earlier, it would have never happened. There would have been no run in the streets of New York, no appointment scheduled for any abortion. They would have talked instead – Karen and him – then hopefully they would have got a happy ending.

Voices of basketball players on the other side of the East Village street caught his attention, for whatever reason. Four teenagers were playing on an old field. Then he noticed the bench in front of it, full of graffiti and in serious need of some paint.

She hadn't done her hair, strands falling in messy cascades upon her shoulders; over a cotton cardigan, a purple one. Slowly enough – anticipating the words that should slide on his lips in the next seconds – Will crossed the street and came to sit down by her side in silence; his eyes fixed on the players. Against all expectations, she spoke first.

"I can't zipped up my clothes anymore. I don't fit in any of them... I woke up with the determination to come here this morning and all of a sudden I couldn't find a single piece of clothing susceptible to end up zipped, or buttoned once I had put it on."

Her hand pulled up her top on a side, revealing the zipper of her skirt only halfway up her waist. She fixed it for a moment before shaking her head.

"I can't go back to the clinic. I can't do this, Will. I... It is too concrete now."

This is when she finally locked her eyes with his that Karen realized how she needed him, how she had missed him; how she couldn't afford to go on without him.

"Please don't leave me..."

If she couldn't have a hold over her feelings, perhaps it was still time to listen to them and see where it could lead. Instead of living ahead of things – in a world of cold, heartless strategies – the shades of a sentimental path suddenly stopped looking uncertain and tough. For the very first time, it appeared to be rather appealing. That's why she let Will do as he bent over and captured her lips in a kiss. The touch was different this time, unique. And as she abandoned herself to his arms, Karen thought about the pages of her diary.

How so many of them were still left to be filled in; to be lived.


End file.
